


Fight for me

by tennou



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Sam Wilson, Break Up, Character Development, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Minor James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Tony Stark, Pining Steve Rogers, Reconciliation, Relationship Study, Sam-Centric, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 22:01:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7406755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tennou/pseuds/tennou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The opposite of love isn't hate; it's apathy.</p><p>It's just not working for Sam anymore.<br/>-<br/>Sam doesn't think their relationship is worth enough to Steve, so instead of letting himself stay hurting, he decides to end it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fight for me

**Author's Note:**

> IDK the idea was in my head for a while now so I wanted to just get it out. Mainly focuses on Sam. Kind of liberal interpretation of canon, but for the most part set after CACW, so spoilers for that. Also I included some of Sam's family, but I haven't read the comics so I'm going purely off the Earth-616 character wikis :')  
> Enjoy!

“I don’t think this is good for us right now.”

Sam paused, took a second for a much-needed breath.

He’d said it.

He had actually said it.

Steve’s face was impassive, carefully controlled except for the slight crease between his brows.

“What do you mean?”

Sam looked like he was trying his best to maintain a calm and collected air, but Steve could see his fingers tapping lightly against the surface of the desk, the way they did when he was anxious.

“This…whatever we’re doing,” he said. The words were almost a stutter, and Sam struggled to keep his voice level.

He had no real reason to be so nervous about what he had to say. Steve was never too unreasonable; he would understand.

Sam had done this in his head a thousand times already. But being faced with the real thing was a totally different ballgame.

He’d obsessed over this for weeks—though if he was being honest, the doubt was probably there from the very beginning. From that first fevered kiss in that dusty motel room on the road to finding Bucky, from the tiny smiles and tightly-held fingers following that night, from the quick and desperate couplings ever since.

This had been a longtime coming, and Sam had made his decision. He wasn’t going back on it now.

Steve’s voice when he spoke was steady.

“And what is ‘this’?”

Sam frowned. “Steve, you know…” He broke off. Gestured between them. “Whatever this is.” He laughed; a broken and heart-wrenching thing. “I don’t even know what to call it.”

Steve wasn’t looking at him. “You want to break up, you mean?”

“We can’t break up if we were never really together.”

Steve winced. That hurt.

Sam wished he hadn’t seen it, because now everything in his being was reaching out for him, aching to soothe the miserable man in front of him.

But he remained where he stood, hands planted firmly in his pockets. He wasn’t playing nurse to Steve’s pain anymore. It wasn’t good for either of them. It wasn’t good for _Sam_.

“It’s for the best, man.”

This was the part where Steve was supposed to clench his jaw, nod his head, and wish Sam the best. He would say something like, “I understand. I respect your wishes.” A square-jawed Atlas in the modern age.

Sam was a distraction, at best. Steve had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

But for a second, it seemed like it would be different this time.

Steve stood up, was suddenly moving around the desk, forward until he was standing just a few steps away from Sam.

Sam looked him in the face.

_Ask me to stay._

“Sam…” Steve’s eyes poured into Sam’s own, trying to relay all the hurt and raw emotion he was feeling. Trying to show him what he felt. Sam gazed back, waiting. Waiting.

And with the blink of an eye, it was gone.

Steve’s face closed off, and he was stepping back. He wasn’t looking at him anymore. His fingers gripped the back of a chair, the knuckles turning white.

“If that’s what you want.”

Sam nodded.

He’d expected that.

Didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt.

He turned to leave but a warm hand closed around his wrist, pulling him back.

“Can I…can I at least know why?” Steve’s voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of something else to it. Sam paused.

“Like I said,” he repeated, “It’s for the best. You’ve got a lot on your plate right now. Plus, Bucky’s waking up from cryo tomorrow. I know you guys will want to catch up. Spend some time together."

Steve had never mentioned anything deeper than friendship with Bucky, but Sam didn’t want to take any chances. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d gotten passed up for a pretty white boy.

“I don’t want to get in the way.”

Steve’s words seemed like a knee-jerk reaction.

“You would never get in the way, Sam.”

"Then show me that."

Sam blinked, the words slipping unbidden from his lips. He hadn't meant to say that part out loud. But it was how he felt, and for a moment he hoped that his message would get across to Steve then; if he didn't understand why Sam had needed a break before, perhaps he would now. Perhaps he would _stop_ him. Tell him that he was being stupid, of course Steve loved him, wanted him,  _needed_ him. 

 _Please_ , Sam thought.  _Just_ show _me._

But Steve, for his part, seemed to be at a loss for words. 

Sam recovered quickly then, at the sight of the other man's hesitation, and just smiled. He squeezed his hand before letting go.

“See you around, Steve.”

He didn’t look back.

If nothing else, at least the distance would give him the space to figure out who he was again.

He hadn’t meant to, but he knew he’d lost himself a little along the way. He wasn’t Captain America’s sidekick, no matter what those trashy tabloids said. He wasn’t his sassy and confident best friend, either. He was just Sam Wilson, and he didn’t exist in relation to Steve Rogers.

He just needed to remember that again.

●    ●    ●

 

The next day, Sam was packing his things and Steve was flying halfway around the world to collect Bucky.

“You sure about this?” Natasha asked as she watched Sam pack his things.

He’d only been staying in the Tower for a couple of months and it had never really settled into his mind as “home” in that time. Which was for the best, he supposed.

It made the departure less painful.

“Yeah,” Sam said as he struggled to pull the zipper closed around the lid of the bulging case. “I figured it should be like a rip-off-the-band-aid type of situation.” He gave her a wry smile. “It’s kind of hard to 'get some distance' if I see the guy every day.”

Natasha raised her eyebrows in silent acquiescence.

“Plus I’ve been thinking of getting my own place for a while anyway,” he added, which was true. His moving out wasn't all about Steve; he had lived alone for most of his life and he had gotten accustomed to it. He missed it, if he was being honest. Now he just had an excuse to get his ass moving. “I like the quiet, and while the Tower is fun it can get a little…hectic sometimes.”

Natasha nodded, a knowing glint in her eyes.

“You still gonna come around, though?” she asked, as she shoved the lid of the suitcase down long enough for Sam to zip it closed.

“Duh,” he said, standing up and appraising the mostly-empty room. “It’s not like I’m putting the place on quarantine. I’m only moving a few miles away.”

“You’re welcome for that, by the way,” Rhodey’s voice called from behind them. Sam glanced back and shot the man a smile.

“Thank you, Amazing James Rhodes, for finding me an apartment in Manhattan on such short notice. You’re truly a God among men.”

Rhodey shrugged, an easy grin on his features. “I do what I can. You know, for the lesser mortals.” He leaned against the doorway, alleviating some of the pressure from his leg braces. His grin turned sly. “Plus it helps that Tony’s bankrolling it.”

Natasha snorted. “How you get that man to do _anything_ is beyond me.”

“The dude is whipped, Nat,” Sam teased. “No way around it.”

“Can’t deny that,” Rhodey agreed. He glanced around the room, taking in the bare walls and empty shelves. “Damn. You’re really leaving, huh?”

“Just going a little further away. You know I've always been more of a solitary guy,” Sam said. “I just need...a space to myself. You’ll still see me around."

“I better,” Rhodey said with an arched brow. “You’re still part of the Avengers, you know. Living a few miles away doesn’t give you any excuses. No tardies.”

Sam laughed, but something in his chest twisted at the thought of doing any Avengers work with Steve.

It was bound to touch on freshly-opened wounds.

He sighed and picked up his suitcases, heading for the elevator with Natasha and Rhodey in tow.

He’d cross that bridge when they got to it.

 

●    ●    ●

 

He got to it a lot faster than he would’ve thought.

Fury called them all out just a few days after Sam moved out to his apartment. Nothing too big, just some smalltime villain wannabe that got a little too cocky for his own good. The most noteworthy thing about him was that he had robots, but nothing they weren’t able to incapacitate within the hour.

“Good work, team,” Sam heard Steve’s voice say from behind him. He turned around to see Steve standing just a little ways from him, speaking into the comms.

That probably should have been his cue to leave, but he found himself lingering around.

He was such a sap.

“Head back to the Tower for a debriefing from Fury,” Steve continued.

“And Tony!” Stark’s voice interjected like static.

Steve caught Sam’s eye and gave an exaggerated eye roll. Sam found his lips pulling into an easy smile at the familiarity of the routine: Tony being obnoxious and Steve saying something snarky in return to Sam.

It was so easy to fall back into these behaviors with Steve.

“…And Tony,” Steve added with only minor irritation seeping into his tone. Sam stifled a snort and Steve gave him a relaxed half-smile.

Sam felt something in his chest tighten at the expression and he looked away, catching himself before he did something else stupid.

He couldn’t do this right now. It was all still too fresh.

He didn’t see the smile fall off Steve’s face.

Anything else he might’ve said was cut short when Rhodey whizzed past in his remodeled Iron Patriot suit (Tony hadn’t spared any expenses; the suit was more tricked out than ever before, and accommodated for Rhodey’s disability).

“Yo Birdman,” he heard Rhodey call as he flew past him.

Sam pulled up his goggles and arched an eyebrow.

Rhodey’s face shield came down long enough to send him a shit-eating grin. “Race you to the Tower,” he yelled before lowering his face shield again and flying off.

Sam swore and readjusted his goggles before taking off after him, shouting variations of, “You're playing dirty!” at him all the while.

Rhodey beat him (the cheater).

He clapped him on the back as they walked inside. “Better luck next time, Wilson.”

“Yeah maybe if you don’t _cheat_ next time.”

“Hey man,” Rhodey replied with a grin as he shouldered past him. “All’s fair in love and war.”

Sam felt the expression on his face freeze, though Rhodey didn't seem to notice.

 _Hitting a little too close to home_.

He wondered if maybe he should just sit this briefing out. He was sure he could get Rhodey or Nat to give him all the details later.

And that way he could continue to childishly avoid Steve (though he knew he wanted to talk to him about this at some point).

It was just easier to run from your responsibilities sometimes.

He turned on his heel to leave, taking a step forward and nearly colliding with a solid, blue-suited chest. 

Steve looked down at him in uncharacteristic silence, eyes a little wide as though he hadn’t expected to see him back at the Tower.

Maybe that was a fair enough assumption. He hadn’t been back yet since he’d moved out.

“Going somewhere?” Steve asked with a raised eyebrow.

Sam swallowed and took a step back, further into the room.

“Nah. I just…had to go to the bathroom real quick, but it can wait.”

He turned around and marched back to the center of the room where the rest of the Avengers were waiting. But he swore he could still feel Steve’s heavy gaze on the back of his neck.

Fury and Maria Hill gave them a quick rundown of the villain, of his motives and prior exploits. Tony came in halfway through to drape himself over Rhodey and halfheartedly explain the tech behind the robots, anything new to look out for.

It was short and sweet, and Sam was more than ready to head back out to his own apartment after it was over to continue avoiding facing his problems like a mature adult (ha).

But Steve stepped in front of him before he got the chance, his face earnest and his eyes determined.

“Can we talk?”

 

●    ●    ●

 

Sam unhooked the wing pack from his shoulders and undid the belts crossing across his chest and waist—though a small part of him wanted to keep his battle gear on.

He had a feeling this particular conversation was gonna hurt.

“How’s Bucky doing?” he inquired politely. He was the first to admit that he hadn’t exactly gotten off on the right foot with Bucky, but he’d grown a little fond of the disagreeably snappy guy. 

Plus it prolonged the inevitable.

“He’s fine,” Steve replied, leaning back against his dressing table. His arms were folded over his chest, emphasizing just how snug his shirt was against his biceps. “We’re letting him settle in before bringing him on to missions.”

Sam nodded.

“Good judgement.”

“Sam.”

Sam pulled the pack up over his shoulders and set it down against the wall with care. He felt exposed when he finally stood up straight to face Steve.

“What did you want to talk about?”

Steve’s face was doing that thing again, where he seemed to be completely calm until you got to his eyes. His eyes always betrayed him.

“The best for who?” Steve asked quietly.

Sam frowned.

“What?”

Steve’s fingers tightened against his shirt.

“After you left,” Steve said, pushing away from the dresser, “I kept turning the things you said over and over in my head.” He was walking forward. Sam resisted the urge to step back.

“One thing really stood out to me.” He stopped, just a step away from Sam. He was close, but not close enough to make Sam uncomfortable.

Sam bit the inside of his cheek.

“And what was that?”

Steve was close enough that Sam could see his ridiculously long eyelashes flutter with every blink; close enough that he could see the muscles in his jaw clench as he decided on what to say.

“You kept saying that you leaving…that it’s for the best.” His arm twitched by his side, like he wanted to reach out for Sam. “But the best for who, Sam?”

Sam blinked.

Steve’s voice was wrought with an anger he hadn’t heard before. He could see he was struggling to keep a composed face but the hurt was bleeding through, and there was a determined frown creasing his brow.

He’d only seen Steve this worked up a handful of times. It felt strange to have it directed at him. Not necessarily bad, but...strange.

“Well, Sam?” Steve asked, the muscles in his jaw twitching. “The best for who? Because if you think it's for me, I can tell you right now that it’s not. The best for me will always involve _you_. And why do you get to decide what’s good for me anyway? Don’t I—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair. Sam watched him, tongue heavy in his mouth.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

“ _Is_ this about what I need, Sam?” Steve asked when he’d regained adequate control of himself. “Because I know what I need,” he said, his voice going quieter. He lifted a hand, tracing the side of Sam’s face with careful artist’s fingers. “And I know what I want.”

Sam took in the look in Steve’s eyes.

For a moment, he was speechless, rendered silent by the raw display of emotion he’d just seen from his friend of three years.

But then the words were tumbling out of his mouth faster than his brain could process.

“Then I guess this is about what I need,” he said. “I can’t do this, Steve. You’re…” He exhaled. “You’re Captain Fucking America, alright? I know you said you’re giving up the mantle, but we both know you’re never really going to be done.” His smile was sad. “You’re too good for that. You’re always gonna be fighting for something, always going to be running out to save the world when it needs you.”

Steve’s frown deepened and Sam resisted the urge to reach forward and smooth it out beneath his fingers with some quip about white people wrinkling too early. God, it was so _easy_ to fall back into their old patterns when they were together.

“Don’t feel bad about it,” Sam continued, taking a hesitant step forward. “I like that about you. Your heroism…” _is what made me fall in love with you in the first place,_ “…is what makes you Steve Rogers.” He sighed. “Not to mention you’ve got so much going on right now, I don’t think you need the confusion of whatever we are placed on top of that.” He tried to paint on his best unaffected smile and placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder, steeling himself.

“I…I’m just not strong enough to do this with you. I want to be a little selfish with myself. I want to take some time and just be… _me_ again.”

He felt warm, calloused fingers close over his own and he stiffened at the touch, but didn’t pull away.

Steve was gazing down at him with that same raw emotion from before mixed in with something like resilience, reminiscent of that tiny frail boy from Brooklyn who refused to stop fighting for something he believed in. Sam felt his heart rate speeding up.

“If this is something you need,” he said quietly, and Sam swallowed the urge shiver at the feel of his breath against his cheeks, “Then…that’s alright. You can leave, and I won’t stop you.”

There it was. That self-sacrifice. That blind heroism. This was what Sam expected. He was used to this.

He made to pull his hand back but Steve’s fingers tightened around his own and he paused, glancing back at his face.

The hard, resilient set to his jaw was still in place, trained directly at Sam.

“But if this is about anything else, if this is about me, about Bucky, about _anything_ at all other than what you’re saying…” His nostrils flared as he took in another breath, struggling to keep his calm. “Then I’m not giving up, Sam. Because I remember you saying something else, too.”

Sam blinked, shock taking his words from him.

“Show me," Steve repeated, his voice hardly above a whisper. "You said 'show me,' didn't you?” Steve asked. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against Sam’s, threaded their fingers together. “I say that I love you and that I need you, but it doesn't work if I don't make you feel that. If you don't feel loved and feel needed. Right?" He could feel Steve's breath against his lips. "Do you still want that?"

Sam’s eyes dropped down to Steve’s lips, mere inches from his own, and he was so close, _so close_ to just tipping forward and pressing their lips together. He wanted to let Steve lay his calloused hands on his body and do what he wanted with him all night, leaving him aching in all the right ways in the morning.

He bit his lip. Steve’s eyes dropped down to his mouth.

"Yes," he breathed.

And they were kissing before Sam even had the presence of mind to stop himself. Their lips moved together, desperate and rushed like so many of their encounters before.

Sam let Steve walk him backwards until his back touched the wall, gasping a little when Steve pressed his thigh between his legs. Steve licked into his mouth, hands gripping Sam’s waist tight like he thought he might disappear if he let go.

It was—

—too fast. Too rushed. Too frantic.

Everything Sam had needed a break from.

He brought his hands up against Steve’s chest and pushed lightly. Steve pulled away at the first sign of Sam's hesitation, a familiar resigned frown on his face.

“Sam?”

Sam’s smile felt sad and weak around the edges.

"I-I do. I want to know that what you feel, what you tell me you're feeling is more than just lip service. But I also think you might just be...emotional right now."

"Sam--"

Sam shook his head. 

"Take some time," he said. "Clear your head a bit, and then if you're still feeling..." He let his words dangle in the air, unsure how to complete them.

"Then," he continued, "Come find me. But not right now, okay?" 

And he pulled away.

He let his fingers remain entangled with Steve’s for perhaps a second too long, but then he was shoving his hands back into his pockets and moving toward the door.

“Sam.”

Sam didn’t turn back, but waited in the doorway.

He didn’t have to, to know that Steve’s expression was resolute.

“I will show you.”

Sam licked his lips, running his tongue over the swollen skin.

“We’ll see,” was all he said, but somehow it felt like a challenge, the words hanging sharp in the air long after he’d spoken them.

 

●    ●    ●

 

The next time he saw Steve wasn’t on the battlefield. It wasn’t even at the Tower.

He had been out for a jog along the Hudson and had stopped to catch his breath.

It had been a few days since he’d spoken with Steve, and neither had reached out to contact the other. Which was probably for the best.

But Sam hadn’t expected to _miss him_ this much.

He closed his eyes, reminding himself why he had left in the first place.

Steve didn’t know how to be in a relationship. His duties would always come before his partner, and that wasn’t necessarily a _bad_ thing. It just wasn’t for Sam.

 _The most stable long-term relationship he has is with justice._ Sam thought to himself, and smiled a little at his own lame joke.

Yeah, he could do this. He could stay away from Steve. For his own good.

“On your left.”

Sam’s eyes jolted open.

Steve, hardly flushed or breathing hard, looking like utter perfection as always, stood beside him.

_Speak of the devil._

“You’re not even on my left, dude,” Sam said, an automatic smile trying to creep up on his features.

He knew he was lapsing back into their old witty banter without meaning to, but he couldn’t help it. It was so easy to lose himself with Steve.

Steve grinned and placed his hands on his hips, his arms flexing a little with the movement, and Sam wondered if he was doing this on purpose.

“I can’t break tradition. Besides, ‘on your left’ has such a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

Sam found himself almost smiling back again, but he caught himself. He glanced away.

“So you trying out a new jogging route?” Sam asked, crossing his arms against his chest. He _knew_ Steve didn’t come running this way.

Steve’s face lost some of its earlier mirth and he sighed, looking out across the surface of the river.

“I’m gonna be honest with you,” he said. “I’ve been running all over North Manhattan and Harlem this morning trying to see you.”

Sam felt his heart skip a beat.

“Why?” he asked, his throat dry.

Steve looked back at him, his eyebrows lifted slightly, a humorless smile playing at his lips.

“Do you have to ask?”

The immature impulse to just run away arose in Sam, but he pushed it down—mostly because his muscles had already started to tighten up, but also because Steve could run circles around him on his worst days anyway.

And also because he missed him.

"Did it occur to you that that's kind of creepy?" Sam asked, placing his hands on his hips as he caught his breath. "I mean what if I didn't really wanna see you?"

Steve's expression clearly showed that the question had caught him off guard. 

"I...didn't think of it like that," he replied honestly. "Which was kind of stupid of me." He frowned, looking out at the Hudson while he reflected. "I...I can leave if you want me to?"

"No," Sam replied too quickly. He cleared his throat, embarrassed. "That...that's okay."

Their interaction from days earlier swirled in his mind, the possibility of this being real pushing at the edges of his thoughts.

Neither of them spoke for a few moments, either out of nerves or a loss of what to say, before Steve finally broke the heavy silence. 

“Sam.” Steve’s voice was soft. There was a pause, indecision clear on his face before he came to an apparent decision. 

"Can I kiss you?" 

His voice was heartbreakingly soft. And Sam knew that whatever answer he gave, Steve would listen. So if he wanted to be alone on his jog, he could say so. 

And if he wanted to kiss Steve...

He gave a single nod.

Sam felt a gentle nudge beneath his chin. He let Steve push his chin up so he was looking Steve in the face. Damn, he’d missed those earnest blue eyes.

The corners of Steve’s mouth lifted in the faintest smile. “I miss you."

Sam ran his tongue over his lips.

“I miss you too,” he admitted. It was quiet, and it felt like he was exposing some kind of scandalous secret.

Steve wrapped a hand around Sam’s neck and pulled him forward. Their lips brushed, and Sam’s skin felt hotter than it had on his run. His mind flashed back to their unfinished tryst just a few nights before. His fingers tightened in Steve’s absurdly tight shirt. He parted his lips—

And Steve’s phone went off, and the moment was broken. Steve’s eyes were glancing down at the phone before he realized what he was doing and Sam just sighed, pulling away. He started stretching out his limbs again as Steve stood in the same place, apparently unsure of what to do next. The phone continued to ring.

_Of course._

“Answer it,” Sam said. “It might be an emergency.”

Steve’s frown was back. “Sam, I—”

Sam waved him off. “Duty calls,” he said, an automatic smile on his face. “I’ll…see you around, alright?”

Sam jogged off, wanting desperately to be as far from the whole situation as possible.

But he couldn’t help one quick glance back at Steve as he grew further away. Steve’s phone was in his hand and his back to him, already heading off in the direction of whatever disaster was taking place.

It couldn’t have been too serious, given that not all the Avengers had been called in, but Steve wouldn’t be able to leave it alone. Sam knew that.

 _That’s the man you fell in love with, dumbass_ , he told himself, but the ache in his chest didn’t lessen. If anything, it got stronger.

So he kept his head forward and kept running.

 

●    ●    ●

 

“Time heals the greatest wounds.”

Sam rolled his eyes.

“I’m pretty sure the quote is ‘time heals all wounds’,” he corrected his sister, who leaned over and gave him a light smack on the side of his head.

“Don’t sass me,” she scolded, before indulging in a long sip of her tea as she eyed Sam in intimidating silence.

“What I can’t figure out,” she finally said, “is why you let yourself get close enough to _another_ white boy to let him hurt you like this.”

Sam laid his head down on the cool wooden surface of his sister’s table. It was comforting.

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice muffled from where his face was pressed up against the tabletop. “I have a problem.”

He heard her snort and mutter, “Ain’t that the truth.”

Sam turned his head enough to look up at her from his place on the table. “What do I do, then?”

His sister arched an eyebrow at him. “Hell if I know, bro. This is _your_ mess. You got yourself into it, you can get yourself out.”

Sam groaned.

“I don’t think I can. Steve can be…persistent when he wants to be,” he said, his mind wandering back to the two year hunt for Bucky. "And..." he broke off, not meeting his sister's eyes.

Sarah raised an eyebrow, waiting. 

"And what?" she prompted when it became clear Sam wasn't going to continue on his own. 

Sam sighed. 

"I might have...told him that I sort of... _wanted_ him to show me if I mean something to him."

Sarah eyed him for a long while, swishing the cooling remains of her drink around in her mug as she contemplated. Sam fidgeted as waited for her to pass judgement.

"So." She finally spoke. "You felt like he didn't really love you, or love you as much as you love him. Correct?"

"Correct."

"And so you basically told him to prove his love for you, is that right?"

Sam sighed. 

"That's right."

Sarah nodded. 

"So tell me what the problem is, again?"

Sam looked up, a frown etched between his brows.

“Excuse me?”

She stared back at him, undeterred. "You told me he's being persistent. Now that on its own would be a problem, especially if you told him you didn't want it. We would be having a whole other conversation, then. But you told him to show you that he means what he said." Sarah cocked her head. "And in that case, so what if he’s persistent?” she asked. “Isn’t that what you wanted from him? A gesture to show that he actually cares, or feels some type of way about you?”

Sam’s frown got deeper.

“Yes, but this...this doesn’t prove anything.”

“It doesn’t?” she asked, obviously dubious. “Because what you’re telling me is that Captain America took time out of his day to run around half of Manhattan just so he could talk to you for a few minutes.” She leaned back in her seat. “Sounds to me like he cares an awful lot about you.”

Sam sighed, lifting his head off the table and leaning back in his own seat.

“It’s not just that,” he said. He fingers tapped lightly against the table’s surface. “His first priority is always going to be saving the day, or being a hero, or whatever. That’s what he cares about. And I’m not sure there’s enough room for me there too.”

“So talk to him about it.”

Sam scowled. “And say what? That I want him to _stop_ saving people because I’m feeling a little lonely? How selfish do you think I am?”

Sarah quirked an eyebrow at him. Sam sighed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell.”

Sarah gave him a curt nod, setting her empty mug on the table with finality.

"I think one of the problems here is--and this is not to say this is the  _whole_ problem--but that you keep thinking you're not good enough Sammy."

Sam blinked. Whatever he was expecting his sister to say, it had  _not_ been that. 

"I...what?"

Sarah reached over and took his hand in hers and Sam didn't know why he suddenly felt like a little kid again, like that time when he was six years old and he'd gotten lost for an entire afternoon at the farmer's market until his older sister had found him and taken a firm hold of his hand and made him promise not to wander off again. 

He squeezed her hand. 

"You keep thinking that you're not good enough for Steve. That he couldn't possibly love you like he says he does, because for some dumbass reason, you think you're not worth it. And that's bullshit, Sammy."

Sam felt his eyes stinging. 

"I-I don't..."

Sarah's expression was gentle. "I'm not saying this is all on you. Steve definitely needed to get his head out of his ass and treat you right because he sure as hell wasn't before, from the sound of it. But if he does, if he's trying..." She squeezed his hand. "You should consider it. Try talking about it with him. Have a real conversation and be _honest_ without feeling like you're being selfish or like you don't deserve to feel the way you do. And if you're still not feeling it?" She shrugged. "Dump his mayo ass."

Sam let out a surprised laugh at that, and Sarah smiled at the sound. 

“See, there’s a way around your problem,” she said, giving his hand a final squeeze before letting go. “You just haven’t quite figured it out yet. I suspect you’ll see the solution once you and Captain Pasty-Ass get your heads out of your own asses and stop being such emotionally constipated men about all of this.”

Sam shook his head, still somewhat lost but nowhere near as much as when he'd first walked into his sister’s home. He felt a traitorous smile creeping up on his face.

He’d never been able to stay emotional around his sister for very long.

“Oh, Sarah,” he said with a heavy sigh. “You always know exactly what to say.”

“I know,” she replied.

 

●    ●    ●

 

It was another week before Sam scrounged up enough nerve to finally just talk to Steve.

He peered inside Steve’s room (door always open). Steve was sitting in his desk chair, scribbling on something atop the desktop.

Sam felt the nerve drain from his body at the sight of him. Every cell in his body felt like it was telling him to just turn around and walk out.

But Sam Wilson was never really a coward.

He raised his hand and rapped on the doorway.

“Mind if I come in?”

Steve was dropping the pencil and standing to face him faster than Sam’s eyes could process.

Steve’s eyes were wide as he drank him in.

“Sam,” he greeted, his voice tinged with surprise. “You’re…here.”

“Yeah, I just…” He shrugged, stepping forward into the room and shutting the door behind him. No going back now. “I thought we should talk,” he said, walking forward until he was just out of Steve’s reach.

Steve leaned back against his desk, eyes trained on Sam.

“Alright,” he said with a nod. “Let’s talk.”

Sam took a deep breath.

“You need to cool it with your self-sacrificial martyr bullshit,” Sam said. Steve’s eyes widened at his bluntness.

“My…what?”

“You know what I mean. The whole…” Sam waved a hand, willing Steve to just understand. “Taking responsibility for all the world’s ills. Your whole Atlas shtick. Weight of the world on your shoulders. I mean, granted, they’re great shoulders, but I think you can stand to lay off once in a while.”

Steve blinked. “I…didn’t realize I did that.”

“Of course you didn’t. You’re too busy worrying about the state of the world, and all that.” Sam sighed. “It’s good that you have a strong moral compass and a sense of responsibility. But it’s also good to take a step back from it sometimes and focus on…other things.” Sam bit his lip. “If you want, that is. I don’t want you to rearrange your priorities if…”

_If I’m not worth it._

Steve’s expression softened. “Don’t even finish that thought.” His brow furrowed. “I hope you know that if I ever did that, I didn’t mean it. Or I wasn’t even really aware of it.” A smile pulled at his lips. “I would never want you to think that you’re not a first priority for me. Because you are.”

Sam couldn’t quite stifle his scoff.

“I love you, but don’t lie to me, Steve. I know that the hero stuff always comes first. I’m just…trying to find a way to be okay with that.”

Steve’s expression hardened. He leaned forward and grasped Sam’s hand in his, squeezing it in affirmation.

“Sam, you should never be okay with that,” he said, frown marring his perfect features. “You deserve better. A _lot_ better. And I would hope that if I’m not giving you exactly what you deserve that you would call me out on it.” He rubbed his thumb along the back of Sam’s hand, little strokes against the skin. “You say I self-sacrifice, but you do the same, don’t you?” He smiled. “You deserve the world, Sam. Don’t accept any less from me.”

Sarah's words echoed in his mind. 

_You keep thinking that you're not good enough._

Sam’s heart was in his throat.

_And that's bullshit._

“I might hold you to that, Rogers.”

Steve’s smile was dazzling.

“I hope you do.” He paused. “Can I…” He pulled Sam forward, eyeing his face with clear questions in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Sam whispered, “You can.”

Sam felt Steve’s lips press against his own, like they had just a week prior. But this kiss was different, now. Slower, gentler, controlled.

Steve’s tongue was careful as it traced Sam’s lips, pushing past his parted mouth slowly. He slipped his hand beneath Sam’s shirt, stroking the skin at the small of Sam’s back. Sam suppressed a shiver when Steve finally pulled away, pressing smaller kisses against Sam’s jaw as he spoke. His hands were lingering at the waist of Sam’s jeans.

“I know we just reconciled, but—?” His fingers slipped into his trousers, teasing the still-covered skin and looking questioningly at Sam.

Sam maintained Steve’s gaze as he pulled his hands away to unbutton and tug his pants down his legs, stepping out of them when they pooled at his ankles. Steve’s gaze had darkened considerably as he watched.

“Yeah,” Sam said, slipping his jacket off his shoulders and placing his hands back on Steve’s shoulders. “Yes. Please.”

Steve’s mouth found his again, movements still careful but edged with a touch of ferocity. His hands were all over Sam like he could never get enough of him, like he was savoring every bit he hadn’t been able to touch for the past few weeks.

“You better take me to bed at least, Captain,” Sam said, knowing Steve got all bothered when he used his title in bed.

“You know it’s your fault I can never look anyone in the eye anymore when they call me that, right?” Steve told him between breaths. He hooked his hands around Sam’s ass and lifted him so Sam could wrap his legs around his hips, carrying them to his bed like he was something precious without even breaking for air.

“Gotta love Pavlovian conditioning,” Sam said before Steve placed him on the bed with such care that Sam was tempted to tell him that he wasn't made of glass.

But then Steve was reaching forward to tear off his shirt and any slight annoyances of Sam's flew out the window.

He’d missed being with Steve like this. His heart ached.

And this time felt…different.

Steve opened him up with agonizingly slow strokes of his lubed-up fingers, rubbing against his prostate with a punishing pace that had Sam’s eyes watering. Steve’s rosy red lips were alternating between dropping kisses on Sam’s spread thighs and mouthing at his cock as Sam tried not to beg for Steve to just quit the teasing and fuck him already.

“You ready for me, baby?” Steve asked, his tone infuriatingly smug. But, Sam noted with some satisfaction, he wasn’t completely unaffected either, if his pink cheeks and sweat-slicked hair was anything to go by.

“Just get inside me, Steve, I swear to god.”

Of course Steve had to draw this out too.

He pulled Sam’s legs wider apart as he pushed into him, achingly slow and determined, it seemed, to make Sam lose it completely. Sam tried bucking up against him, urging him to go faster, but Steve’s hands were holding his hips down to the bed with superhuman strength (which frankly seemed unfair). He was in control.

Sam was holding back whimpers when Steve finally bottomed out.

“Move, Steve,” Sam prompted when Steve remained still for a moment too long.

Steve leaned forward to mouth at the sensitive spot on Sam’s neck and Sam bit his lip at the movement.

“I just like hearing you ask for it,” Steve murmured against his skin, before pulling back and thrusting back in with a slow, steady roll of his hips.

“C’mon Steve, faster,” Sam breathed, clawing at the other man’s broad shoulders.

But Steve simply threaded his fingers through Sam’s and pushed them back against the sheets, resuming his hellishly slow pace.

“We’re not rushing this, Sam,” Steve said with another roll of his hips that had Sam almost sobbing. “Like I said,” he added with an angled thrust that brushed against Sam’s prostate. “You deserve the world. And I’m going to make sure you understand that. I'm _showing_ you that.”

Sam’s whole body was aching and his legs almost useless by the time Steve was done with him. His skin was sticky with sweat—amongst other things.

But he’d never felt more content.

“That was hell,” he told Steve, who draped a tired arm over his waist with a smile. “You almost killed me.”

“You know I could never do that.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I know, you loser.” Sam found himself smiling back.

“I missed this.”

Steve’s eyes grew more somber and his hand traced light patterns against Sam’s skin. “I did too.” He paused. “I love you, you know.”

“I love you too, Steve,” Sam replied easily, but Steve just frowned.

“No, Sam. I mean…this it for me,” he said. “ _You’re_ it for me. This is…probably the most important thing in my life. And I hope you know that. And I hope you'll tell me if I ever make you feel any different.”

Sam cleared his throat, his cheeks burning.

“What brought this on?” he asked.

Steve sighed, running a hand through his ruined hair. “I was talking to Sharon about…us. And she told me that I wasn’t forward enough. That I wasn’t communicating to you how much you really mean to me. And I think she was right.” He placed a hand on Sam’s cheek, leaning in close so they were nose-to-nose. “So: I love you, Sam Wilson. More than anything.”

Sam placed a hand on top of Steve’s, helpless against the dopey grin on his face.

“Yeah," he whispered with a smile. "And I love you too, Steve Rogers.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think I can write a single samsteve fic without a disgustingly fluffy ending. It's physically impossible. I hope you liked it! :^)
> 
> btw I'm always down to talk about samsteve or just sam wilson in general on [tumblr](http://starfudge.tumblr.com/) so be sure to hmu if you want


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